


go and catch a falling star

by disasterdrow



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Stardust Fusion, Inspired by Stardust, M/M, Minor Basira Hussain/Alice "Daisy" Tonner, Mutual Pining, Sky Pirates, Slow Burn, Team as Family, all of them are queer, if there is no found family then What is the Goddamn Point
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:34:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24959968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/disasterdrow/pseuds/disasterdrow
Summary: A Stardust AU, or, Martin Goes On An AdventureFeaturing: half-Faerie Martin, a fallen star, sky pirates, kidnappings, and Elias being a canon typical asshat. also pining, drama, and as many gay tension swordfights asn I can cram into eight chapters.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 11
Kudos: 69





	1. ride ten thousand days and nights

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever published fanfic, so wish me luck! Updates will probably be weekly ish. Credit to my best friend K for most of the good ideas and all of the motivation. Love ya!

Martin Blackwood had always been a lonely child. From when he was very young, he had wandered away from his family's small house on the edge of the village to stare into the fields beyond the Wall, the edge of the forest creeping in on the horizon. Once, he swore he had seen a tiny face looking back at him, but they were gone by the time he blinked. The idea of the faerie land beyond entranced him, though he couldn't have told you why. Maybe because it was forbidden: like a great number of young boys, Martin was incredibly curious about the things he wasn't supposed to know. 

This changed when Martin was eight years old. When his father, Blackwood senior, left him and his mother alone to return to Faerie, when he broke his wife's heart and left her alone with a half faerie boy in a place that knew enough to fear magic. No one mentioned his name again to Martin's face, but when the people in the village thought he couldn't hear, they whispered about him and his father and mother. That his father had gone back over the Wall, back to Faerie, back where he belonged. _Faeries don't stay,_ they whispered. _They have the wandering in their bones. He would never have stayed. Poor woman,_ they told each other quietly. _And poor fatherless boy, with the faerie blood in his veins. He will never belong. He will always have the wandering in him._ Martin didn't look over the Wall anymore, after that.

Martin's mother never got over the loss of her husband. She wouldn't mention him or meet the eye of anyone in the village. She withdrew into their small house, refusing to let Martin use the name Blackwood, his faerie father's name. They used her maiden name, Candlemaker, instead. He never told his mother about the last gift his father had left him - a strange, crystalline snowdrop - knowing she would demand he get rid of or destroy it. 

Martin was a strange, lonely child who grew into a solid, lonely young man, his faerie father's legacy evident in his face for anyone who knew to look. He became his mother's rock, calm, reliable, helpful despite her protests and her increasing anger at her lover's face reflected in her son's. At first he was just her hands, but he quickly became her only helper. He had few acquaintances of his own and fewer friends, none of whom he would consider close - he was considered different by most of his peers. As his mother's condition worsened, he looked after her on his own, patiently, whenever she wasn't lucid enough to send him away. He made the tea, tended the small garden, made weekly trips into the village for supplies. He helped her when she couldn't stand up unaided, and spent hours in the garden alone, reading, when she couldn't stand to see him, which was more and more often as the years passed. 

It was a surprise to no one when she finally died. 

Martin stood in the garden of the cottage that was his now, still in his funeral wear. He looked at the little house, at the leaking roof he had been meaning to fix before the cold set in, at the familiar four walls, at the kitchen garden he had spent so many hours patiently weeding, and imagined spending the rest of his life there. Imagined sitting in the chair where he had sat to watch his mother waste away, but alone this time. Imagined setting the windows for winter and watching the seasons change, and waiting and waiting for nothing to happen. And he looked beyond the cottage, to the stone Wall that marked the edge of Faerie, and over it, for the first time since he was eight years old.

As he watched the darkening sky, frozen in his sudden fear and indecision, a star fell beyond the Wall, landing somewhere beyond the trees. And he thought, a little hysterically: _Well, why not? Half my blood is faerie, my last name, the face my mother couldn't bear to look at by the end._ He dashed into the cottage, knocking over a side table, pointedly avoiding looking at his mother's chair, and packed a bag. What food he could gather quickly, some tea, spare clothes, a small knife that had been a gift from one of the men in the village. His father's snowdrop in his pocket, and a locket that had been his mother's clasped around his neck. He changed quickly into a warmer sweater, hanging the formal wear carefully as though he planned to return. And when he left the cottage he locked the door, tucking the key under the loose brick where the spare was kept. Just in case. 

He jogged towards the Wall, a frantic energy driving his movements, as though if he didn't leave quickly he would change his mind, he would be here forever, fading away like his mother. He slowed as he approached the gate guards, but he needn't have bothered. They stepped aside as soon as they recognised him, and he could read their faces easily. The changeling boy going back to where he belongs. Nothing left to keep him here. He didn't know what to say to them, to these people he had known all his life, so he didn't speak and he didn't look back. He just kept walking, away from the place he had lived for twenty two years and into Faerie, a place he thought he might hope to belong.

***

In a forest not entirely unlike the one Martin was entering, except bigger, darker, older and far more malevolent, there was a house. A tall, dark, ragged building, that creaked when the wind blew from the east. The windows were clogged with centuries of dirt, and inside the house was equally filthy, lined with bookshelves and stuffed with trinkets but with no sense of hygiene, organisation, or fire safety. Three men lived in that house, three men who were mockingly referred to as the Maiden, the Mother, and the Crone, though not within their hearing, at least by anyone who valued their life. And one of them had very sharp hearing indeed. 

The one in question was named Elias. He tipped his head to one side, eyes closed in concentration. The other two fell silent for a long moment, until he nodded. "Your insane theory worked, Leitner. Whatever else that trinket was, it caused a star to fall."

The oldest of the three smiled viciously, showing several rows of filthy yellow teeth. "As I said it would. You should not have doubted me. Now, I should leave to hunt it immediately, before someone else with a vested interest finds it."

At this the last man, Peter Lucas, interjected disdainfully, "As I recall, Leitner, you hunted the last star and failed. We had to send Elias to finish the job. Perhaps you should stay with your books and leave the work to hands that don't shake with age." 

Elias smiled, and his eyes seemed to glow an almost electric green. "You make a good point, Peter, but there is another task for you. I think you will find this more suited to your skill set. And I will find the star, and take its living heart." 

Lucas' eyes flickered with a little of the same green, and a static hum was faintly audible. There was no humour in his face, but all of his teeth were showing, sharper than they had any right to be. The three men seemed to have come to an agreement, Leitner a little more reluctantly, but an agreement all the same. Two of them left the strange, dark house, and the last watched them go.

***

The star in question has had a very long and stressful day. Unlike most stars, he has always taken a keen interest in the world below, observing the mortals about their lives with an almost obsessive curiosity. All that by no means meant that he wanted to be caught by some painful, broken-glass-and-copper magic and yanked downwards, out of the safety of the sky - and suddenly he was falling. This was quite a shock to him, as there is a significant difference between being aware of gravity as an abstract concept, and very suddenly being subject to it for the first time, a very long way above the ground. He flailed, caught so very far off balance and disoriented that he didn't have a hope of catching himself, or landing in any coordinated way. 

He collided with the ground at an incredibly awkward angle, wrenching his knee and skidding along on his front, embedding a significant amount of small rocks into his face. He forced himself to sit up, looking around. There were trees around him, what might have been a lake in the distance, and he was on the ground. The sun was setting, and looking up, he could see the other stars just beginning to appear in the sky. The distant, unreachable sky. 

Jonathan, star, now grounded, bleeding, and with no clear way back home, sat on the ground and began to cry. The copper chain of a heavy, blood red, crystalline pendant was tangled around his wrist, still dragging him down. 

***

Martin didn't really consider the consequences of his actions until the sun had fully set. The air wasn't fully cold yet, the last of the autumn warmth still lingering, but he was now deep into the forest, with no plans aside from a vague end goal of finding the fallen star - and he didn't even know where he was, or which direction the star was in. Or actually, that wasn't quite true. He knew exactly where the star had fallen. He shouldn't - the trees should have blocked any possible navigation, even if he had known how to navigate by the stars and moon. But he did. 

As he walked on purposefully through the trees, he saw a little flicker of light, only a little way out of his way. Curious, he crept closer, towards the little clearing illuminated by early moonlight, to see a nearly burnt out campfire, embers still casting off the faintest heat and light. Lying next to it was a young woman, dressed for travel and curled up on top of a heavy blanket, apparently asleep. 

Feeling uncomfortably voyeuristic, he moved to turn away, but as he shifted his weight, a branch broke under his foot and he slipped, landing on the ground with a thump. He breathed in sharply, glancing back at the sleeping figure.

Her eyes were open and looking directly at him, but she seemed unphased. "Instead of making a racket over there, why don't you come over here and get some sleep? It's late."

Martin dithered for a moment, but he couldn't think of any polite way to refuse, so he nodded and walked over to the fire, which he noticed was on a patch of carefully cleared earth, surrounded by rocks. He set down his bag, tugging out a spare sweater to use as a pillow and lying down facing the woman and the fire, just in case. Despite his misgivings, he fell asleep quickly and soundly. He was disturbed only briefly, by a hand to the shoulder and a muttered voice that might have been imagined, saying, "Stop dreaming so loudly, it's annoying." He slipped back into sleep quickly and did not dream again.

When he woke up, the sun was well risen. The traveller from last night was awake, and he got a better look at her in the daylight. She was strong, the kind of strength that comes from hard work and heavy lifting, and there was a sheathed sword propped against her pack, within easy reach if she needed it. It was clear she knew how to use it. 

She noticed him looking at the blade and smiled, not unkindly. "It pays to be cautious, friend. These aren't safe roads by any means. Breakfast?" She indicated the fire, over which several strips of bacon were sizzling, and Martin gladly agreed, pulling some bread out of his own bag to supplement the meal.

"I'm, uh, Martin, by the way. Martin Blackwood. What's your name, if you don't mind me asking?" he asked awkwardly. 

She looked up from her breakfast, sharply scanning his face for any sign of deceit. Whatever she saw apparently satisfied her, because she relaxed a little, although her eyes didn't leave his face. "You aren't from around here, are you? Word of warning, that's not a very polite question to ask. It's not safe to hand around something as important as names, or any personal information really."

"What should I say if someone asks, then?"

She shrugged. "Well, if they ask for your name, you could offer them a nickname to call you by. Or just your first name, if you're feeling lucky. For example, I'm called Sasha." 

He nodded his understanding, feeling a little ridiculous. 

"And where are you going, Martin?"

He nearly answered fully, before catching himself, remembering what she had just said. "Uh, I'm going that way." He gestured in the vague direction that he knew the star to be. 

She smiled, and it seemed warmer than it had before. "Well, so am I. Would you like to travel together for a while? It's a dangerous road, safer with two." 

Breakfast finished and fire carefully extinguished, the two of them continued into the forest. Martin noticed quickly that she didn't seem to have the same magnetic sense of direction that he had, and he carefully readjusted their course a few times. She didn't seem to notice. The forest seemed to get thicker as they walked, the game trails and meandering paths they had been following growing indistinguishable from the undergrowth. The closeness of the trees made it feel as though it was growing darker, even though it was full daylight, as bright as ever. The light seemed to swirl as it shafted through the shadows in an almost dizzying way, and when Martin looked behind himself, he couldn't see the path, as though the forest was closing in behind them. 

"Sasha!" he called, but she was still ahead of him, walking as if in a daze deeper into the forest. The path wasn't visible at all anymore, and the trees seemed to be leaning in, reaching for Sasha. He grabbed her shoulders, yanking her around to face him, panic lending him strength. She looked at him, at first confused and then shocked. The trees were shuffling closer. She glanced behind herself, looking at the trees. They seemed sharp almost, the bare autumn branches like jagged teeth. 

"It's a serewood! We have to get back to the path!" She began to backtrack towards what she thought was the direction they came from, but Martin gripped her arm again. 

"No, this way!" He tugged until he was certain she was following, then let go, but she grabbed his hand as he led them both back towards the path. With her other hand she drew her sword, cutting through the low branches and brambles in between them and the path. Neither of them let go until they were safely back on the trail. 

Sasha looked around, checking for something, before finally sheathing her sword and dropping onto the ground heavily. "How did you know where the path was, Martin?" she asked tiredly. 

He shrugged. "I don't know. I just knew." 

She looked at him. "Where are you going?" Martin looked unerringly at where he knew the star to be. No other answer was needed. "Where's the capital?" He was about to tell her he didn't know, that he'd never been, but he found that he did know. He pointed. 

"Okay. Where's the sky ship Revenge?" He shook his head. "Where's Gerard Keay?" A shrug. "Where's Gerard Keay's house?" He pointed. 

She sighed and smiled a little. "Martin Blackwood. What a name to conjure with." And then she didn't elaborate, no matter how he pressed as they trekked on through the forest. She did leave the navigation up to him as they continued, though. After telling him the name of the village she was heading to, he readjusted to head towards it. It wasn't too far out of his way.

As it turned out, Sasha was headed to the village to meet with some old friends. She told him little of them, only that they were good people and they might be able to help him, too. Though they didn't share much personal information, they passed the days companionably enough, Martin guiding them unerringly through the forest. 

When they finally reached the village, on the border between the forest and adjacent to a massive lake, it had been only two days since Martin and Sasha had met. But between his forthright kindness and her sarcastic candour, he felt he was closer to her than any of the acquaintances he had left behind in Wall. 

Sasha lingered on the edge of the village, almost reluctantly. "You've been a good traveling companion, Martin. I'll be sad to see the back of you." 

Martin grinned. "I need to get some supplies: cured meat, a warmer blanket. Meet back here in an hour or so for a proper goodbye?" 

She nodded. "Yeah. I might have something for you by then. Oh, you'll probably have better luck trading than buying outright here." As she turned away, he caught her glancing back at him out of the corner of his eye. 

He quickly found that she was right. He did manage to buy some things, though the change was a mixture of assorted very different currencies, none of which he recognised. Some of what he bought he traded on for other things he needed, as well as swapping a small jar of his own tea for a leather money belt, which he quickly stored his money in. He considered a moment, before strapping his iron knife to the belt. The road was dangerous after all.

He made it back to the meeting point just a few minutes longer than an hour after he said he would. Sasha wasn't there yet, so he sat down to repack his bag, storing his new purchases away carefully. When he looked up next, he saw her approaching, arm slung around an unfamiliar shoulder. It was a man, slightly shorter than her, wearing a ruffled shirt, neck loose, thigh high boots, and a hat with a feather in it, a rapier strapped to his side. They were both laughing, and Martin smiled along without meaning to, standing up and slinging his pack back onto his shoulders. 

"Sasha," he called out, getting her attention and drawing the curiosity of her companion.

She smiled widely, towing the man towards Martin. "Tim, this is my new friend Martin. Martin, Tim." 

Tim looked Martin up and down, not inconspicuously, and winked. "It's very nice to meet you, Martin. Sasha's been telling me about you. All good things!" 

Martin grinned. "I should hope so. Sasha?" 

"Oh, before I forget-" she rummaged through a bag and drew out the remains of a candle stub. "This will get you to your star, as long as you know where it is. Just light the candle and walk towards it." Martin accepted the candle, examining it. It seemed perfectly ordinary, but he had no reason not to trust her. 

He pulled a jar of honey out of his own bag. "This is for you. It's just honey, nothing special. We used to keep bees." Sasha accepted it, turning the jar over to see the handwritten label, smiling up at him. He held his arms out and she came to him willingly for a long hug. She was as strong as she looked and crushed his ribs a little, despite Martin's height over her. He held her for a moment, before they both stepped back. 

"We're going to see each other again," said Sasha, and she sounded so certain that Martin was inclined to believe her. 

Tim cleared his throat from behind her. "If we want to leave with the tide, Sash, we have to go." 

She pressed something else into his hand, breaking eye contact. "Fare well, Martin, and good luck." She turned and followed Tim back into the crowd, towards the lake. 

It didn't occur to him until after they'd left that the lake was landlocked. And that he'd never mentioned the star to her. He looked at the thing she had placed into his hand - it was a small medallion, a disc with a book inscribed on the surface. He tilted it into the light, and he could read on the pages of the book the words The Order of the Archive. He tipped it back and the design vanished, leaving the surface blank. 

He unclasped his mother's locket, threading the medallion onto the chain and hanging them both back around his neck, resting over his heart. Something about Sasha's secretive nature told him that he shouldn't broadcast the existence of the medallion. He turned away from the village to find a quiet place in the forest. 

***

By the time he was far enough away from the village, the sun was setting. Still, he was too eager to try the candle to wait until morning. He turned to face the place the star had fallen, focusing on where he knew it to be. He pulled a match out and struck it against a rock, lighting the candle and beginning to walk. The landscape warped around him as though each step took him miles, as the candle burned lower he knew himself to be getting closer. As the flame finally guttered and died, he knew he was less than half a mile from the place the star fell. 

Full of excitement, he tucked the remains of the candle wax away, heading more quickly to the place. From here, he could see a place where the plants were bent and broken, and some charred. He hurried down into the valley, following the path of broken foliage to what appeared to be a crater. 

As he approached the epicenter of the damage, he saw that there was a man sitting nearby on a rock, hunched over with his head in his hands, facing into the damaged area. Martin changed track, walking towards the man. 

In the moonlight, it was hard to make out his features, but he was smaller than Martin, with long dark hair, falling over his eyes and streaked with silver, though he looked far too young to be going grey. His face was in shadow, but he was holding his leg far too awkwardly for it to be usable. The man didn't seem to notice his approach, so Martin stepped deliberately on a branch, snapping it under his foot. The man flinched, looking around at Martin, who stepped out into the moonlight, hands up. 

"Hi," he said calmly. "I'm Martin. Are you okay? It looks like you could use some help." 

The man glowered at Martin briefly through his curtain of hair. "What, did you come back to gloat? To finish the job now I'm defenseless?" He spread his arms. "Well?" 

Martin was a little taken aback by this. "I've never met you in my life." 

He fished a charm out of his pocket, not looking away from Martin. The copper chain caught the moonlight, the big, heavy gemstone glittering like blood. "You mean this isn't yours?" 

Martin shook his head slowly. "No. I'm not from around here. Look, I just want to help you out. If you want me to go, say so, but the accusations are a little rude, frankly." 

He brushed his hair back out of his face, softening slightly. It was clear he was in a lot of pain. "No. No, please don't go. Martin, right? I'm Jon."

Martin nodded, approaching slowly. "Can I see your leg? Where does it hurt?" Jon allowed him to approach and kneel next to him, indicating his lower leg and knee. Martin pulled up the leg of his trousers to examine the injury. It was immediately obvious by the swelling, even in the dark, that the knee had been badly wrenched, and Martin wouldn't be surprised if the leg was broken besides. It looked like he had landed roughly from a great height, judging by how scuffed up he was, and Martin noticed there was blood and grit dried along one side of his face. 

"It's badly twisted at least, maybe broken. I'm going to light a candle to get a bit more light and see what I'm doing, okay?" Jon nodded, so Martin began digging through his belt pouch for a candle and matches. He pulled out the last of the wax from Sasha's candle, setting it aside to continue searching, and Jon picked it up curiously. 

"What's this?" he asked as Martin lit the candle. Martin glanced up from his careful examination and shrugged. 

"The last of the wax from a magical candle. You can keep it if you want, I don't have any use for it and I don't know if there's any magic left anyway." Jon tucked it away, but now his strange, intense gaze was fixed on Martin. He tried to ignore it as he gently touched Jon's knee. "I don't know how much I can do for this, but you should keep your weight off it as much as possible. I can sort out a splint and probably a bit of a cane, but the only cure for this really is rest." 

Jon frowned down at him. "It's not like I have anything else to do." 

Martin looked up, meeting his gaze properly. "Where do you live? Can I help you get home to rest?" To his surprise, Jon's eyes filled with tears as he looked up almost instinctively. 

"I don't know if I even can get back," he said quietly, his throat thick with grief. 

"You're the star?" exclaimed Martin, which was the wrong thing to say. Jon's eyes focused on him again, scared and angry. "No, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that. I just, uh, saw you fall." 

Jon nodded. "Yes. I'm the star. Someone made me fall on purpose - that's who I thought you were." 

Martin didn't know what drove him as he took Jon's hand gently. "I'll help you get back up there, if I can. There must be a way, and we'll find it - or make one." 

Jon gripped his hand tightly, looking at the other man hopefully. "You think?" 

"I'm almost certain, Jon. We're going to get you home, I promise."


	2. if though be'est born to strange sights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Martin promised to get Jon home, and he's going to do his level best to see it through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to K for the beta and most of the inspiration (love ya!) and special mention for @gauras - i literally cried reading the comment you left on last chapter, thank you so much!  
> i hope everyone likes this chapter!

Martin looked at Jon's bloodied face. "Let's get a fire built and get some rest, yeah?" 

Jon looked a little confused for a moment, "But it's only just getting dark- oh, of course. You sleep at night." 

Martin stifled a smile. "Yeah, that's right." 

He built a fire carefully, like Sasha had taught him, and helped settle Jon with a blanket and his leg elevated so he was more comfortable, and to help reduce the swelling, explaining to Jon what he was doing and why. 

Once Jon was settled and the fire was burning comfortably bright, Martin found three long, straight sticks, two about two feet long and one about four feet. He smoothed off the two shorter ones with his knife, then pulled some strips of scrap fabric out of his pack and approached Jon again. "I'm going to set and splint your broken leg, if that's okay." 

Jon nodded his assent, though he looked a little nervous. Martin kept an eye on his expression as he helped him carefully straighten the leg, but aside from a tightening around his eyes and mouth, there was very little sign of how much pain he must be in. He didn't cry out or flinch, just looked straight ahead as Martin carefully strapped his broken leg, from the ankle to just above the wrenched knee. 

"All done!" he said brightly, and Jon let out a long, shaky breath. Martin remembered something and stood up, hurrying over to his pack and digging through it.  
"I think I have some willow bark tea in here somewhere! It should help with the pain at least, and maybe the swelling too." 

Jon looked at him, a little confused but not upset. "I can handle the pain, and I don't need to eat or drink." 

Martin glanced up. "Just because you can live with the pain, doesn't mean you don't deserve whatever relief I can offer. Unless you don't want it?" 

Jon shook his head slowly. "No, I appreciate it. Thank you, Martin." 

Martin started heating water for the tea, and picked up the other stick, carefully smoothing this one as well, except for the top, where there was a natural fork in the branch. He stood again, leaning on it to test the strength. It withstood, even when he put his full weight on it, and he handed the finished cane to Jon as well. "Here," he said quietly. "This should help you walk while your leg heals." He walked over to the fire, pouring the water into two tin cups for tea. Willow and valerian root for Jon, and chamomile for himself. He passed Jon the tea, and he sniffed it dubiously, but took a sip. 

Jon still had dried blood on his face, and there was still water in the kettle. Martin poured a little of the hot water into a bowl, added some cool water from his waterskin, and pulled another rag out of his bag, passing both to Jon, who looked a little startled. "For your face," he explained, gesturing to the side of his own face. 

It was almost completely dark, so Martin couldn't read his expression, but Jon dipped the cloth in the warm water and started dabbing gingerly at his face. He couldn't see where the blood was without a mirror, so eventually Martin put down his tea and moved to the space directly next to him, gently taking the cloth back from his hand. "Let me?" he asked softly. Jon nodded, and Martin rinsed the rag again and gently brought it up to Jon's face.  
He leaned in close to see clearly in the dim, flickering firelight, gently wiping the dirt from Jon's bloodied face. 

Oh, thought Martin, almost absently. He's pretty. It was true. Jon had dark, expressive eyes, and when his face was clean, his high, graceful cheekbones and sharp jawline were more obvious. He wasn't quite classically handsome, but he was beautiful in his own, faerie way. No, Martin told himself. You aren't allowed to be attracted to him. He's hurt and he needs your help, and you already know he's going to leave. Don't get attached. But he really was very beautiful. 

He started as he realised he had been staring, his face barely inches from Jon's, and he dropped the rag, coughing. "All done," he said hastily. "Feel any better?"

Jon nodded, picking up his tea again. "Yes, thank you, Martin. Much better." Martin sat on his own side of the fire and tried not to think about how Jon's face had felt under his careful hands. He could feel Jon watching him curiously, so he stared into the fire, hurriedly drinking the last of his tea. The chamomile did very little to settle his nerves. 

***

When Martin woke the next morning, Jon was still sleeping. His face was buried in the sweater Martin had given him, and the blanket was pulled up over his shoulders and around his face, so he almost disappeared into it.  
Martin set about reviving the fire from last night for breakfast, trying very hard not to look at Jon being sleepy and cute as he began to stir to the sound of Martin's morning noises. 

Martin offered Jon more tea and some breakfast, and whilst he turned down the food, he gratefully accepted another cup of tea. "Just willow this time," explained Martin, pressing it into his hands. "Valerian will make you sleepy and I wanted to see if we could make a start today." 

"What's the plan?" asked Jon, slowly sipping his tea. 

"I thought we could go to the capital, Stormhold. There's a library there, open to the public. It's the biggest store of knowledge anywhere in Faerie. If we can find an answer anywhere it will be there. And if it's not, that's the place to start researching." 

Travelling was slow going. Martin knew which way it was to the city, but not what obstacles might be in the way. This place wasn't well travelled enough to have roads or even footpaths, and the game trails were winding and steep. Besides all that, Jon was still limping, leaning heavily on the cane, and they had to stop for frequent breaks. Jon was frustrated by his own difficulty moving unaided but he insisted on doing it alone. Martin watched him struggle helplessly, remembering his mother snapping when he tried to take over the chores she had continued to force herself through, but didn't say anything to Jon. 

Jon wasn't certain what to make of this strange mortal. From everything he had observed, mortals tended to be selfish and violent, starting wars and perpetually trying to get one over on their peers. Martin wasn't at all like that, and Jon found that utterly confusing. Mortals didn't offer anything without ulterior motives, particularly not lonely half-human mortals with no allies or place. And yet that was exactly what Martin had done, from the moment they met. It made no sense. 

They passed a lot of the day quietly, Jon struggling too much to speak easily, still unwilling to ask for help, despite - or perhaps because of - how willing Martin was to offer it. They had made little progress by the time they had to stop for the encroaching darkness, but Martin was still full of nothing but encouragement and positivity as he built the fire and offered Jon tea and food. 

He accepted the pain relieving tea, but refused the food again. Martin didn't seem phased, eating his own food and then approaching Jon. "I need to check your leg, if that's okay?" Jon nodded his assent and Martin carefully changed the bandages, checking for infection before strapping the splint back onto his leg and returning to his own place by the fire.

He dug through his bag for something else - two pointed sticks and a ball of what looked like string. "What's that for?" asked Jon, plagued by curiosity in spite of himself. 

"Hmm?" said Martin. "Oh, these are knitting needles. I use them to turn the yarn into fabric." He demonstrated as Jon watched intently, casting on and then knitting a couple of rows to show Jon how the pattern formed. Jon watched intently for the rest of the evening as Martin knitted something, though he couldn't tell what it was going to be. 

They chatted idly, Martin doing his best to answer as many of Jon's questions as he could, which was still barely a dent in the ones Jon still wanted to ask. Martin started with knitting and from there, explained spinning, sheep, animal husbandry and the whole farming system. Jon seemed to have five more questions raised by every answer Martin have, but he didn't get impatient. They didn't fall asleep until late that night, too caught up in their conversation to consider the time. 

The next day, they reached the road. It was just a narrow cart track, for the shepherds and mountain crofters to get down and into the nearby villages, but it was going close enough to the right direction and it made the journey a lot easier for Jon, still limping but at least willing to lean on Martin now, which was a relief for both of them.

***

The man called Elias strode down into the valley between the mountains, ignoring the splintered and crushed vegetation and the burned trees. He walked purposefully towards the epicenter, where the impact had been. There was nothing there except for a scrape of blood and dirt on the rocks. He followed the scuff marks of awkward movement to the other side of the crater, where there was a larger rock. He looked around, saw a careful, burnt out fire circle, the footprints of two sets of people, and - he leaned down and picked it up - a rag, stained with blood. 

He lifted it to his nose and inhaled, and a smile, too wide, too sharp, split his face, though it did not reach his eyes. He lowered it, tucking it into a pocket, and sniffed the wind like a bloodhound, picking up the scent of what he hunted.

Elias turned on his heel and left the valley clearing, walking unerringly back into the mountains. His quarry was not here. But it wasn't far, either.

The game was on.


	3. all strange wonders that befell thee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a long walk to Stormhold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this chapter's late! it slipped my mind entirely. my home has been pretty tense lately and i got kinda distracted.  
> thanks to K for the beta and for being supportive :) one day I'll call you and not be crying.

Martin didn't actually know quite how far it was to the capital. Or rather, he did. He knew the exact distance to the capital, as the crow flies, but that didn't translate well to winding roads and Jon's limping pace. Martin wasn't used to this amount of walking, either, and he found himself patching up blisters on himself as often as on Jon. Several times, Martin suggested stopping in one of the villages they passed through, just for a month or so, to give Jon's leg time to heal. But he refused each time, eager to get on towards the city. 

As they approached, they managed short rides in farmers' carts and merchants' wagons, trading food or coins or even stories for a lift to rest Jon's leg. Jon knew hundreds of stories of all kinds of things, histories and wars and ballads, and every time he paid for a ride with one of his tales, it was new to Martin, too, and he listened to Jon's melodic voice as raptly as any of the traders' children or bored farmers. 

One evening, when it was just the two of them, after they'd set up camp for the night, Jon sang. It was a beautiful soft song, in a language Martin didn't know. Martin listened in silence, tea forgotten, to his haunting voice. He didn't need to understand the words to hear the aching sadness in it. 

"What language is that?" he asked Jon quietly. 

"Celestial," said Jon, an unreadable expression on his face. "It's the language stars speak amongst themselves." 

"What's the song about?" 

Jon just shook his head, looking up at the sky. Martin thought he saw a tear slide down his face, and he looked away, embarrassed. Martin didn't ask him to sing again. 

The nights were drawing in and getting colder, and more often than not now Martin would awaken in the morning the second of the two of them, to find Jon hunching over the last of the fire, piling logs on and shivering. This happened twice, and by the time they set up camp on the third night, Martin had had enough. When Jon set up his blankets to settle in to sleep, Martin tugged his own over and into Jon's space. "Come here, Jon." 

Jon looked up in confusion. "I'm sorry?" 

Martin patted the space beside him. "You keep getting cold at night. Come and cuddle, and then we'll both be warmer." 

Jon tipped his head in annoyance - or confusion? - but acquiesced, pulling his blankets over and throwing them over the top of the two of them. He crawled awkwardly onto the bedroll, suddenly all sharp elbows and broken leg, as Martin patiently helped him settle in. He curled around Jon's back like a closing bracket, throwing one arm over him. "Is this okay, Jon?" 

He leaned back into Martin, tentatively at first and then more comfortably. "Yes. Yes, this is nice. Thank you, Martin!" 

"Don't mention it." Jon was warm, warmer than a human would be and Martin wondered briefly if that might be why he struggled with the cold. He felt small and safe in Martin's arms, and they both slept more easily that night. After that, they didn't mention it again, but they curled up together every night to sleep. Martin felt a little guilty, as though he was taking advantage of Jon for the closeness, when he didn't even know how much Martin liked him. Not quite guilty enough to stop, though. 

***

Martin could tell they were close to Stormhold - perhaps a week away, perhaps a little less - and he was as excited as he was apprehensive when he told Jon. They had joined a road that was clearly a major road to the city. Yes, they were one step closer to getting Jon home, to the sky; but that meant they were one step closer to taking him out of Martin's reach forever. And Martin wasn't ashamed to admit that he didn't want to lose Jon. He had never liked anyone as much as he liked Jon, had certainly never been as close to anyone besides perhaps his mother. 

Maybe that was why one day as they were walking along, when Jon asked him where he was from, he told him the whole story. Jon's leg was bothering him more than usual, and they were looking for any distraction to pass the time.  
"Where are you from, Martin? How did a half-human end up in the middle of Faerie at just the right time to meet a star?" 

"That's quite a long story, actually. I'm from Wall. It's a little village, just outside Faerie - in England, in fact. It's where my mother was from, but not my father. My father's name was Robin Blackwood, and he was a faerie. A Fey Lord, as he told my mother, though she didn't believe him, or she said she didn't." 

The story - all of it - took the whole morning to tell. From his father leaving, to Martin growing into his father's face and bearing, his own mother becoming unable to look at him without seeing her wayward lover. "She just got sicker and sicker, you know? I watched her fade away, and there was nothing I could do. By that time she couldn't stand to look at me. She looked at me and all she could see was my father. I wasn't a person to her so much as I was his son. And she was all I had. I'd never had many friends, certainly no close ones. After she died I was lost, you know? My mother had just been buried and I didn't know what I should do. I couldn't see myself doing anything except sitting in her chair and fading away, just like she did." Martin tailed off, looking almost absent, as though he wasn't quite there. 

"And then?" asked Jon, carefully, soft brown eyes fixed on Martin's face.

"And then I saw a star fall. Over the Wall that I wouldn't let myself think about, the Wall my father left over. And I thought - well, I thought that there was nothing left for me in that little village, nothing I could see myself staying for. And so I went to see if I could find a fallen star."

"And you did," said Jon. 

"And I did." echoed Martin. 

They didn't speak for a little while after that, Martin remembering, Jon considering. "Will you look for your father?" asked Jon. 

"No," said Martin, not even pausing to consider. "No, he left me and he took my mother from me too, or he may as well have. I'd be happy to never see him again." Jon nodded his understanding, and the pensive quiet lingered for the rest of the day.

That evening, after Martin fell asleep, Jon extricated himself from their blanket pile, tugging one free to wrap around his shoulders like a cloak, but leaving his cane beside the blanket pile. He only intended to walk a short distance away from the fire, to get some space to think. He had never spent so much time around another person before, let alone one he actually liked, wanted to spend time with, felt safe enough to sleep curled up against. He intended to walk away quickly, before he woke Martin by accident, but he found himself watching him sleep, his face soft in the firelight. 

He tore himself away finally, walking away from the road and into the darkness, amazed at how hard it was to walk away from him, from his friend. He had never liked being around people. Even his cousins, the other stars, or his grandmother, the moon. They were always something of a distraction from his watching and his insatiable curiosity. His grandmother at least had offered help with his obsessions rather than trying to drag him away or force him to join in with the others. 

He looked up at the stars, twinkling coldly, and thought about Martin, his first real friend. Martin, asleep in their bed, beside their fire. He thought about not going back up there, about staying on the ground, about never flying again. He thought about waking up next to Martin every morning for the rest of his life, about how he looked, sleep-soft eyes and hair messed up with blanket creases on his face, offering him tea and breakfast, even though he never wanted breakfast, just to give him the choice. He thought about Martin. 

But he didn't have time to come to any kind of a conclusion, because there was an arm grabbing his wrist and an icy knife at his throat, and he could feel blood trickling down his neck as an unfamiliar voice hissed in his ear, "Did no one warn you that these roads aren't safe?"  
And then he didn't have any time at all, because everything went dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update will (hopefully) be next Sunday, the 19th of July!


	4. what wind serves to advance an honest mind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im... fuckimb late again sorry  
> thanks to K who is something like 90% of my self esteem and impulse control and basically came up with All the ideas <3

When Martin woke up, the bedroll was cold. At first, he thought Jon had gotten up to start the fire, too sore to sleep for longer, or just too restless. But as he sat up, he couldn't see Jon beside the fire, or anywhere at all.   
One of the blankets was gone, but his cane was still there, so he couldn't have gone far. Martin forced himself to not panic, to think calmly. Probably Jon's just gone to stretch his legs, to check the weather for today, he thought calmly. He's not far. He's perfectly safe. And now I'm going to go and find him. He got up, grabbing his knife - just in case - and Jon's cane, because he'd probably need it after walking without it for any distance, and walked away from the campsite, calling Jon's name. 

***

Jon was, in fact, quite far away. He was not perfectly safe. And the weather was the furthest thing from his concerns at that moment. At that moment, he was in fact more concerned with the immediate threat to his life in the form of a man who had introduced himself as Elias. Aside from the kidnapping, the tying up and the light mauling, he had been very pleasant, right up until he had announced his intention to kill him. Jon wasn't quite clear on the why, or in fact why it was taking so long. He had left Jon tied up in a small building, tentatively identified as a charcoal burners' hut, which again might have been pleasant if not for the implication that this hut didn't belong to Elias, and the owners were somehow indisposed. Or disposed of. 

At any rate, Jon hoped that Martin wouldn't try to find him. Elias had used enough magic, and powerfully enough, that he knew neither of them stood a chance against him, even together, and Elias would certainly take a very dim view indeed of Martin trying. 

In the meantime, his leg ached from the rough treatment and lack of tea, and being tied up hadn't helped matters. He tried to reach it, to ease the ache out, but his hands were tied too tightly. He sighed.

***

By the time Martin had found the blanket Jon had taken, it was fairly obvious he hadn't left quietly - but equally obvious in which direction he'd been dragged. Martin packed quickly, skipping breakfast and preparing to go after his friend. 

The tracks headed deeper into the trees along the edge of the road, away from the city, but not quite back towards the mountains. It followed a charcoal burners' tracks, and Martin saw several burning piles, all left too long and charred into ruined ash. There was no charcoal burner apparent, which was a worry. The piles should be tended day and night. 

Still, he followed the tracks deeper for near enough half an hour, growing more frantic with every moment. What if Jon was badly hurt, or dead, and Martin hadn't noticed? What if he was too late? He tried to force away the intrusive thoughts, but they resurfaced insistently. He was on the verge of utter panic when he saw what he presumed to be the charcoal burners' hut,the chimney smoking, the door splintered around the bolt as though it had been forced open - and the tracks leading inside. Martin forced himself to remain calm, to approach quietly and subtly peek through the window. 

The cabin was mostly empty, aside from a fireplace, lit and burning brightly, a single narrow bed, a table with a single chair, and Jon, slumped on the floor and motionless. Martin might have thought him dead already, if not for the familiar, drawn expression of pain on his face and the rope around his hands and arms. No one bothered tying up a dead man. Aside from Jon, the building was empty, so Martin slipped inside. 

Jon looked up at the creak of the door, suddenly unable to breathe, only to see Martin sneaking into the hut. "Martin," he breathed in relief, immediately followed by fear. "Martin, you have to go, or when he comes back he's going to kill us both." 

Martin ignored him, drawing his small iron knife and cutting the ropes, careful to avoid Jon's dark, faerie skin. "I'm going to get you out of here, Jon. Don't worry." 

A voice from the doorway interjected, "Oh, I would be very worried if I was you." The familiar tall figure of Elias was leaning against the doorframe, watching Martin. To his credit, Martin finished cutting the rope before standing and turning to face him, knife in hand. 

"We're going to walk out of here," said Martin, calmly, though the hand that wasn't gripping the knife was shaking. "And you're going to let us." 

Jon, lying on the floor, carefully shifted his hand to his pocket. Elias, focused on Martin, didn't notice. He pulled out a lump of wax, softened in his warmer-than-human body temperature, and wrapped it around a piece of the rope. The fire blazed in the hearth, only a single pace away in this small space. 

"And why would I do that," said Elias, too-wide smile across his face, revealing too-sharp teeth. His eyes were dark and mirthless. 

Jon gripped the rope and the wax - the makeshift candle - in his right hand. He stood up in one motion, though his leg cried out in agony, and took Martin's hand in his free hand. He thrust his makeshift candle in the fire, hand and all, and yelled, "Walk!"   
He took a step forwards and so did Martin, and the cabin shifted and blurred around them as Jon's hand burned. He thought he might have screamed. 

When Jon could think past the pain again, he was lying in something soft. Martin was kneeling over him, pouring cool water over his burned right hand. He gasped softly, and Martin looked at him.   
"You magnificent idiot," Martin murmured, hugging him. "This is going to scar, you know. Quite badly, I should think." 

Jon struggled to sit up. "Where are we?" He tried to put his good hand down, but it sank into whatever they were sitting on. It was soft and damp. 

Martin pushed him back down, gently. "I think we're on a cloud." 

"A cloud?" 

Martin nodded, looking around. "I guess neither of us really thought about where we were aiming for. I think we're safe enough for now, but I'm not sure how we're going to get down." 

Jon struggled up into a sitting position again and this time Martin helped him, propping Jon up against himself so they could both look out over the edge of the cloud. The landscape beneath them was utterly unfamiliar, flat rolling plains unlike the forests and hills nearer to the capital, and the day was heating up, getting on for the warmest part of the afternoon. They sat there quietly for a while, looking down over the empty meadows, Martin pointing out the occasional cow. 

The silence was broken after half an hour or so by an unfamiliar whoop, and then a more familiar voice, though Martin couldn't immediately place it, hollering "Martin? It is you, you sexy bastard!" 

Martin looked up and directly above them appeared to be a flying ship, sails full with the breeze. Leaning over the side was Sasha's Tim, dramatic feathered hat dangerously askew at an angle that had slipped past rakish and straight into deranged. He yelled over his shoulder, "Sasha, get over here! It's your boy! Someone get a rope ladder for fucks sake!" 

A rope ladder was lowered over the side of the ship, and Martin helped Jon onto it, now a hand and a leg down and still shaky from the pain, before climbing on behind him, making sure he didn't fall off. The crew pulled the ladder back up and onto the ship, and Martin helped Jon onto the deck, taking most of his weight. 

Tim and Sasha approached, Tim a little behind Sasha who threw herself at Martin in a hug, nearly knocking Jon over. "It's good to see you, Martin! How on earth did you get up there? You have to tell me everything!" Martin acquiesced, a little intimidated. 

"Friends of yours?" asked Jon uncertainly. 

Martin grinned widely. "Of sorts. Tim, Sasha, this is my friend Jon. Jon, this is Tim and Sasha. Sasha helped me out a lot in finding you, and I guess Tim just saved our lives." 

Sasha claps her hands. "Now sounds like a good time for you to tell us everything over tea." And as Jon threatens to crumple, she adds, "And sitting down with a biscuit wouldn't hurt, either." 

In the end, Martin makes the tea: willow and valerian for Jon, mint and chamomile for everyone else. Jon curls up comfortably into his side as he recounts the whole story to Tim and Sasha, with Jon interjecting with the occasional correction, but mostly content to doze under the safety of Martin's arm across his shoulders. Martin ends by stating, "I don't think that's going to be the last we'll see of Elias, and frankly the only way I can see us getting rid of him is sending Jon back where he belongs." 

Where he belongs. The words echoed through Jon's head like a funeral bell. Of course that's where Martin thought he belonged. Up there in the sky. Away from Martin. Worse, he was putting Martin in danger by staying with him. He pressed his face into Martin's shoulder, trying to imagine living without him.

Sasha asked "How certain are you that Elias won't come after you instead, as vengeance?" 

Martin shrugged. "I suppose we'll find out, won't we?" 

***

Tim, who turned out to be the captain of the sky ship, the Revenge, offered to drop them in Stormhold, but the route the sky ship took meant it would be at least another month before they got there. With the cold setting in, walking wouldn't have been much faster, and the rest gave Jon's leg a chance to heal properly, so they accepted gratefully. 

Sasha took it upon herself to answer as many of Jon's questions about mortals as Martin couldn't. She was well travelled enough to answer most of them, and those she couldn't, she assured Jon, most people wouldn't be able to answer anyway. She also took the opportunity to instruct him in blending in as an ordinary mortal, but most of the help from that quarter came from another crew member. 

She looked almost nothing like Sasha at all, and yet something about her was so inherently Sashaish that Jon found himself calling her Sasha the first time he met her. She grinned, her smile warm despite her too many sets of teeth. "Not-Sasha, please," she corrected. "Otherwise it gets confusing."   
It turned out she was Sasha's changeling sister, who had a lot of practice blending in, and she imparted as much of this as she could to Jon. 

Meanwhile, Tim decided that Martin needed to know how to swordfight, in order to defend himself and Jon from any future enemies. Martin was half-expecting fencing lessons with swords like Tim's fragile rapier, but when he voiced that, Tim just laughed, throwing him a heavy, five-foot wooden practice broadsword. "We'll start with this." He practiced with most of the crew members at some time or another, but it was usually Sasha or Tim. He gradually figured out the types of sword that suited him, and needless to say they were not massive broadswords.

Aside from that, Martin found himself looking for ways to make himself useful on board. The crew of the Revenge was welcoming enough for a friendly smile and an extra set of hands, and so he rapidly made himself invaluable. Between the swordsmanship and the heavy lifting, he found himself stronger than he'd ever been, rapidly approaching a match for Sasha in strength if not dexterity in their mock battles. Jon caught himself noticing, too, when Martin hugged him, how much stronger he was, how safe Martin made him feel. 

Tim noticed Jon noticing, of course. He confronted him quietly in the tiny spare cabin that Jon and Martin were sharing, carrying two cups of tea and gently shutting the door behind himself. "Hi, Jon," he said, sitting down beside him on the edge of the bed and offering him the other cup of tea. "Tea?" 

Jon took the drink and sipped it to avoid speaking, drawing comfort from the warmth and familiar taste. 

"What do you intend with Martin?" He demanded abruptly, turning 

Jon nearly choked on his tea. "I don't intend anything! That is - uh - I don't know."

Tim met his gaze evenly. "Then you need to figure it out. He really likes you, you know. You can't lead him on like this, that's no fair." 

"I don't love him," Jon found himself saying. "I don't love him, but I could, if I let myself." 

"Then why don't you tell him?" 

"It's-" he broke off awkwardly. "It's not quite that simple, with stars. It's hard to explain, but - it would put Martin in more danger than he already is."

Tim looked like he wanted to say more, but bit his tongue. Finally, he said, "Don't you think that should be a decision he makes for himself?" He stood without waiting for a reply, closing the door behind himself. Jon put his tea down, flopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. His leg was healed enough to walk on, now, but it still ached at the end of a long day. It ached now, though it was still only mid afternoon. He glanced out the window, into the churning clouds. 

At the same time, in the narrow galley, Sasha cornered Martin as he poured himself another cup of tea. She closed the door softly behind herself, and waited for Martin to notice her. She wasn't disappointed: he turned around and jumped, spilling tea onto the floor. "Sasha! You can't sneak up on people like that!" 

She grinned. "Yeah, Tim keeps saying that too." Her face straightened as she cut to the chase. "What's up with you and your star, anyway?" 

Martin flushed, ducking his head to avoid her penetrating stare. "He's not mine. He's his own person." It was a weak rebuttal and they both knew it, Martin shifting his weight and putting his mug down, apparently fixated by the spilled tea on the floor. Sasha didn't need to press, just waiting patiently for Martin to speak again. 

"I think I love him, Sasha. I love Jon." 

Sasha squeaked, sweeping Martin into a crushing hug. "I knew it! You have to tell me all about it!" She stepped back, straightening her tunic and glaring, mock-threateningly. "If you ever tell anyone that happened, they will never believe you." 

Martin smiled back, nervously, and gestured for her to sit down, pouring a second cup of tea for her. "What do you want to know? That he's sharp and sarcastic and insatiably curious? That he prefers his tea with a teaspoon of honey, and hums in Celestial in his sleep?" His face fell a little. "Or that I'm pretty sure he doesn't like me back?" 

Sasha leaned in. "What makes you think that? The boy's got eyes, doesn't he?" 

Martin shrugged, looking out the small porthole into the gathering clouds. "He's a star, Sasha. Aside from the fact that I don't even know if stars can fall in love, what do I have that could possibly make him want to stay? He belongs in the sky! And I'm just some mortal!" He shook his head, still not meeting Sasha's gaze. "I shouldn't want him to love me, because then it will hurt both of us when he has to go home, not just me. It's not safe for him to stay. Elias can't be the only asshole with an agenda out there." 

Sasha put an arm around his shoulders, resting her head against his chest. "I think maybe Jon belongs wherever he decides he should be. Not where you think he should be because he came from there, and not for his safety. He wasn't safe in the sky, either, if you remember." 

Martin took another sip of his tea, and watched the silent clouds gather and swirl outside the little window.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have me some Sasha and Not-Sasha backstory if you're interested? might post it? also SKY PIRATES I'VE BEEN SO HYPED   
> leave a comment?   
> next chapter should be next week, Sunday 26 July but like. poke me if i forget bc it's written im just dumb  
> more sky pirates next chapter anyway


	5. and swear / nowhere / lives a lover true and fair

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who updated on time! me!  
> anyway this is my favourite chapter in this fic so far and i really hope you guys like it!

The clouds continued to gather into the late afternoon, darkening and thickening. Tim seemed unconcerned as he gave the order to tie the sails up, until the Revenge was nearly still in the heavy, humid sky, braced and waiting for the storm. The air was almost perfectly still, as though braced, waiting for something to happen.   
"We'll just ride her out," Tim said, smiling. "It'll be fine. Fun, even! You haven't lived until you've ridden out a storm from it's very heart." 

"As long as you don't misjudge the lightning and let it hit the ship," muttered Not-Sasha uncomfortably. 

"I'm sorry," said Tim brightly. "I can't hear you!" He turned to Jon and Martin, watching the clouds gather with excitement and apprehension respectively. "You're welcome to stay on deck and watch, as long as you're tethered down and stay out of the crew's way, yeah? I'd rather not lose anyone overboard today." 

Sasha bounded up the steps onto the deck, clearly excited for the evening's work, her arms full of heavy metal cylinders, each three feet in length and maybe six inches in diameter. "Who's ready to catch some lightning?" A cheer went up from everyone in earshot as they fastened harnesses, tied down crates and locked doors. Tim and Not-Sasha helped Jon and Martin tether themselves to the front of the ship, with enough slack to move around if they needed to. 

The first cloud of the storm front bore down on the ship. Tim was at the wheel, his hat tucked away somewhere, his focus entirely on the storm, all of the humour gone from his face. A flash was visible in the heart of the storm, followed rapidly by a resonant rumble of thunder. The air tasted like ozone and Martin found himself gripping Jon's hand, standing on the prow of the ship. 

Jon's face was tilted up into the first spray of rain, eyes half-closed against the gathering wind. His hair was loose again, fluttering in the breeze, dark brown and silver a stark contrast against the iron clouds. Martin turned back to face the storm again, surprised to find it almost upon them. 

The thunder cracked again as they broke through the storm front, the air currents sweeping the ship upwards through the thunderstorm, and Jon and Martin were instantly drenched by the driving rain. Sasha, perched dangerously high above in the crow's nest, called down "Gathering lightning, five hundred paces!" The crew darted into action, loosening the sail enough to jolt them forwards, towards the place Sasha had indicated. Tim yelled to be heard over the lashing downpour, "Ready with the lightning bottles? In five, four, three -" as two more crew members darted forward with one of the strange metal cylinders, one end now open.

Lightning flashed and Martin flinched, certain it would strike the ship. But it seemed drawn to the mysterious cylinder - the lightning bottle - and it was absorbed by the darkness inside. Another person rushed forwards and slammed a lid onto the container, holding it down as it was strapped on with leather straps. The cylinder seemed to be glowing, almost pulsing with an electric inner light as it was carried to the stairs and passed down inside the ship. 

Abruptly, Martin realised that they were singing. It was an upbeat, rhythmic song, easy to catch onto and chant, without too much thought to it. He saw Tim mouthing the words, counting, listening to the song to keep time between lightning and thunder and position them in the very heart of the storm. And he saw the crew coordinating themselves to the rhythm of the song, as well. 

Oh the wind was foul and the storm ran high  
Leave her, Johnny, leave her!  
She shipped it green and none went by   
And it's time for us to leave her.

Martin caught himself singing along under his breath, and caught himself, almost guiltily. But Jon had noticed, and with a smile, he added his own voice to the song, and they both chimed in on the chorus, 

Leave her, Johnny, leave her!  
Oh leave her, Johnny, leave her!  
For the voyage is long and the winds don't blow   
And it's time for us to leave her.

As the storm rolled on, carrying the ship in its roiling heart, the cylinders grew wetter. An empty one slipped from the hands of a crew member and rolled towards the prow. Jon darted forwards, catching it, and with the help of the woman who had dropped it initially, opened the cap. She pulled him along to the centre of the ship, passing the lid to Martin, and they held it together, braced for the next bolt of lightning. 

Martin found himself laughing with the exhilaration of the teamwork, even through the cold and driving rain, and he saw his manic grin reflected in the face of the woman. It was Not-Sasha, he thought, though it was hard to tell in the driving rain. The crew still sang, a song that seemed to be about alcohol this time, but the chorus was easy enough to learn. Sasha called out from the crow's nest again, "Gathering at a thousand paces, to five o'clock!" The team on the sails hauled the heavy cloth around as they snapped full of wind again, Tim fighting with the wheel and the weight levers to keep the ship level in a complicated dance. 

Tim called out again, "Brace yourself in five, four, three, two - " and the lightning struck. Jon wasn't prepared for the force of the raw energy, and he staggered with it, but Martin was right behind him, bracing him and slamming the lid onto the bottle. Not-Sasha cinched the straps down, relinquishing the canister to Martin, who hauled it over to the steps, passing it down to waiting hands in the darkness before allowing the hatch to fall shut against the wind again. 

As crew members traded out from exhaustion, Martin found himself on the ropes, hauling the sails around in accordance with Sasha or Tim's directions. The rope was rough and slick against his hands, sometimes slipping for a moment before he could catch it, but there were enough other hands to hold it, as he held it when they slipped. At some point Jon had joined Sasha in the crow's nest, at first just watching, but eventually she climbed down, leaving him to call the storm as she took the wheel from Tim, leaving him to focus on the weight balance.

The storm faded out slowly - at first, more time between Jon's calls, and then the rain eased a little, so visibility improved. Several sailors dropped off the ropes and weren't replaced, as the wind calmed. The singing slowed, and eventually stopped. The sails fell slack, away from the wind, and looking up, Martin could see how clear the sky was, full of stars and deep. Jon climbed down from the crow's nest, soaked to the skin and favouring his leg, but smiling as he limped over to Martin for a hug. Not-Sasha bounded over and hugged them too, as Sasha sauntered up, leaving Tim alone at the wheel. "How was your first storm? I guess we can't call you groundlings anymore, huh?" 

Jon's hair was plastered down to his head and neck, making him look rather bedraggled, but he was smiling wider than Martin had seen him smile in a long time. "That was absolutely fantastic! Can we do another one?" 

Sasha was about to answer when Tim finally approached, his face stony. Another crew member was holding the wheel steady, though it didn't need much holding. The air was still.   
"I thought I told you two to stay out of the way?" he demanded. Sasha tried to interrupt, but he cut her off, glaring at them for a moment longer before his face softened into an enormous smile. "You did fantastically! Well done!" He, too, swept Jon and Martin into a hug. "Are you sure we can't convince you to stay on board?" 

"Maybe as a plan B," said Jon, thoughtfully. 

Tim thumped him on the back. "All of you change into dry clothes and get some rest. You've earned it." 

As he walked away, Jon commented to Martin: "You know, I finally see why he's the captain." 

***

All but a skeleton crew slept late into the next morning, exhausted from the storm. When Jon and Martin finally woke up, sunshine was streaming into their cabin. Martin sat up first, disentangling himself carefully from Jon, who pulled the covers back over his head. He ached as he moved, the stiffness from last night's exertion seizing his muscles. "How's your leg?" he asked. 

"Mmmff," whined Jon, trying to cuddle up to Martin again. Martin laughed, extricating himself. 

"I'll be back in ten minutes with your tea, okay?" He stood, stretching and winced as his back cracked, leaving the cabin and closing the door gently behind himself. 

Tim and Not-Sasha greeted him in the kitchen, both looking tired and drained, but exhilarated. "Finally awake?" Tim teased, smiling. "Sore?" 

Martin nodded sheepishly, filling the kettle with water for tea. "Yeah, I didn't stretch last night." 

"Well," Not-Sasha said, "You might want to stretch before this evening. It's going to be a beautiful clear night, and we'll reach the capital tomorrow. We can drop you off with some friends who might be able to help you. Sound good?" 

"That sounds fantastic, actually." admitted Martin. "Tea?" 

The mood of the ship that day was relaxed with the underlying thrill of victory. Tim and Not-Sasha crashed as soon as Sasha was awake to keep an eye on the ship, the only one the Captain and First Mate trusted to keep watch, even with the weather this still and calm. 

Late in the afternoon, as the air was cooking rapidly and shortly after Tim and Not-Sasha got up, another crew member got a fiddle out. She started slowly, a couple of warmup exercises, but some people gathered to listen anyway. Not-Sasha found a few bottles of wine somewhere, and they started passing them around. The next song she played was a raucous drinking song, something about rivers of whiskey, and the crew sang along happily enough. 

When she switched to a faster song, rhythmic and upbeat, with no words, Martin found himself overcome with a sudden flush of courage. Perhaps it was the wine, or the autumn sunset, or just the contentment in Jon's face as he listened to the music. He stood up, holding a hand out to Jon. "Dance with me?" 

Jon's eyes widened a little, but he stood. "I don't know how." 

"Don't worry - I'm a very good lead." 

Martin began walking Jon through the steps, slowly at first, but faster as the music got faster. When his leg wasn't broken, he was surprisingly graceful, and certainly a very fast learner. Some other crew members got up, too, as the song changed. The dance grew faster, and Martin laughed a little, passing Jon off to Sasha. Jon looked a little shocked and betrayed, but only briefly, and Sasha was a very good lead. Tim caught his other hand and grinned up at him, his eyes sparkling a challenge. "How fast can you dance, ground boy?" 

"Faster than you," declared Martin, as the song sped up again. The violinist was watching their friendly contest. Martin took the lead position a little aggressively, speeding the steps up, but Tim kept pace easily. The pace of the song increased steadily, and Martin teasingly spun Tim out. He allowed it, barely, but his smile had gone razor sharp and brittle, and when Martin tried it again, Tim took the lead position, daring Martin to try anything on. 

Martin allowed him to lead, even adding more complicated steps, but he was beginning to falter a little. As the song drew to a close, Tim dipped him, and he allowed that too, not sure how much longer he'd be able to keep up the pace otherwise. Tim held him like that for long enough to prove he could, and for the song to end, then unceremoniously dropped him. 

Everyone laughed a little, and Tim did help him back up, handing him over to Not-Sasha. The next song was calmer, but still upbeat, one that Martin didn't know, but she was willing enough to back lead. She whispered into his ear, "Dance the next one with your star, okay?" Martin nodded, a little confused, but as the song ended he approached Jon, who gave him his hand readily enough. Not-Sasha whispered something to the violinist, who started playing something soft and slow - a waltz. 

Jon leaned in close, warm against Martin in the chill of the late autumn evening. The stars were bright above them, and the world was splayed out below the sky ship like a starlight map. The violinist was singing, her high, clear voice carrying through the still night air. 

Jon hummed a little against Martin's shoulder. "This is nice, isn't it? I could stay like this forever." They had given up any pretense of steps, just holding each other close and swaying. Jon had never felt quite so peaceful as here, with Martin. And he felt a shift within him, like everything had suddenly changed - except it hadn't. Nothing had changed. He had loved Martin for a long time, he realised, perhaps since he had met him. All he wanted was to stay with him, for the rest of both of their lives. He didn't want to go back to the sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you K for the beta and also for the sea shanties.
> 
> if you liked the chapter, maybe leave a comment? im a new writer and i really appreciate every one!
> 
> next chapter should be up next Sunday, the second of August


	6. or to keep off envy's stinging

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's midnight here, i stayed up to post this chapter because I was so excited to get it to you! thank you k for the beta!

Jon and Martin held hands, watching, as the sky ship rounded the last mountain before Stormhold. Not-Sasha was there too, perched on the railing and leaning so far over the edge of the ship it looked like she might fall. The day was clear as the night before had been, and even this late in the year, a shimmering heat haze rose off the mountainside, lifting the sky ship on the air current. 

The city of Stormhold came into view almost suddenly, like a sharp, rocky creature perched on the mountain, digging in with claws. Not-Sasha pointed. "Look! That's Stormhold Castle in the centre. Over there, you can see City Hall. You can just make out the Shadow District there - that's where Gerry lives."

Stormhold Castle was an imposing shape, easily the tallest building in the city. Jagged, twisting spires of volcanic glass rose from the top. It looked almost organic, much like the rest of the city, malevolent and intense. Still, the sky ship was higher even than the highest of its peaks as they glided past. The castle cast a deep shadow to the north of its peak, which was the place Not-Sasha had indicated as the Shadow District. 

There was a lake just below the city, in the valley, and it was towards this lake that Tim guided the Revenge in. It landed softly on the water, gliding towards the docks. Several crew members came out with mooring ropes and gangplanks, vaulting over the side to land lightly on the docks and secure the ship in its position. 

Tim strutted up, thigh high boots, ridiculous shirt and all. "Ready to see Stormhold in all her dark glory?" he joked. 

Not-Sasha looked him up and down appraisingly. "Trying to impress someone?" 

Tim shrugged, not denying it. "We're barely in the big city twice a year, excuse me if I want to mix a little pleasure with my business." 

Sasha approached the small group, tucking a notebook into the inside pocket of her long leather coat. Her sword, Jon noticed, was belted at her side, and so was Tim's. She smiled when she caught him looking. "It pays to be cautious in this city. It's a dangerous place." 

"Speaking of which," interjected her sister, pulling something out of a crate and handing it to Martin. It was a sword, similar to the ones he had been training with, but of far better temper. He pulled it carefully out of the sheath, testing the balance in his hand. It was a longsword, a little less reach than some he'd seen, but light and well balanced. It was probably worth more than anything else he'd ever owned, and he wondered again how much being a sky pirate paid. 

"I can't accept this," he said, looking from Not-Sasha to Tim. Both of them grinned back. 

"Yes, you can," said Sasha. "It's a dangerous city, and you have a star to protect." 

Martin nodded reluctantly, strapping the sheath to his belt. "Thank you. All of you. I don't know how we'll ever be able to repay you for your kindness."

"Nonsense," said Tim. "We're friends. And if this doesn't work out - or if it does - you will both always be welcome in my crew." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked down the gangplank. And the other four followed him into the city. 

The city was far bigger and more maze-like than it had seemed from the sky, but Tim and Sasha led them confidently through the tangled streets. As much of the city was below ground as above, the buried streets lit even during the day with smoky, dim gas lamps. As they approached the Shadow District, even the above ground portions grew darker, and Sasha kept one hand on her sword hilt, the clasp unfastened. Tim seemed unphased, even when the sun was no longer visible above ground, guiding them deeper into the heart of the city, away from the main roads. 

Tim stopped finally beside a heavy wooden door, off an underground alleyway, the paint so peeled it was impossible to tell what colour it had once been. He knocked twice, waited, and then knocked twice more. 

There was a distant thump, as though something heavy had been knocked over, and then the door opened, surprisingly silently for such a dilapidated structure. A man leaned out, tall and with badly dyed black hair and several piercings. He looked a little surprised, then pleased, to see Tim standing there. 

"It's good to see you, my friends! I wasn't expecting you for another month at least!" His eyes fell on Jon and Martin. "Who are your companions? New crew members?" 

Tim snorted. "They're here for research. I thought maybe they could stay with you, and you could take them to the archives?" He turned to the two wanderers. "Jon, Martin - this is Gerry. He's an archivist and a trusted friend. If anyone can help you find a way, it's him." 

Gerry looked at the two of them more closely, and focusing on Jon, his eyes widened. "He's a-" 

Not-Sasha clapped a hand over his mouth. "Yes. Not here - inside."

In contrast to the exterior, the inside of Gerry's home was warmly lit, spacious and comfortable. Two other people were inside, introduced as Gerry's housemates Melanie and Basira. They seemed friendly, although Basira watched Martin very closely in a way that made him a little uncomfortable. He noted a wedding ring on her hand, but no matching one on anyone else in the room. Estranged? he wondered. Widowed? 

Gerry gestured for them all to sit down as Sasha made introductions and Not-Sasha demanded hugs from Melanie. Once they were all settled, Gerry turned to Jon again. "You're a star! I suppose that explains why Tim brought you here - there used to be a star working at the archives."

"Used to be?" said Jon. "What happened to them?"

"She was murdered," said Basira, bluntly. "By a man named Elias." 

"The same Elias as kidnapped Jon?" asked Martin, his hand falling to his sword propped beside him. 

"Elias kidnapped Jon?" exclaimed Not-Sasha. 

Martin nodded, looking warily at the door. “You weren't there for that conversation, but yeah. How did you think we ended up where you found us?"

"Okay, backtrack," said Gerry. "You had a run in with Elias and lived?" 

The whole story came out in pieces that way, from Martin meeting Sasha ("You gave him an archive token after knowing him for two days?!" "He seemed trustworthy! I'm a good judge of character.") to finding Jon, travelling across Faerie towards Stormhold, being kidnapped by Elias ("It was mostly luck that we got away. He won't underestimate us again." "So that's where the burns on your hand came from,") and rescued by Tim. 

"So we're here to find a way to get Jon back up to the sky, to keep him safe from Elias." concluded Martin. 

Gerry looked a little surprised. "But you know that-" he stopped as Jon shook his head sharply, willing him not to finish his sentence. The others didn't seem to notice, too busy debating how easily Elias might find them and if they needed to take more precautions. 

Martin stood up again, picking his sword up to carry it into the kitchen with him. "Tea, anyone?" No one commented, but Gerry set the extra bar over the door, and Melanie deliberately fished a dagger out of the desk, strapping it to her thigh. 

Tim, Sasha and Not-Sasha had to leave, citing work to be done on the ship, restocking and selling the lightning they had caught. Sasha and Not-Sasha hugged Jon and Martin tightly, and even Tim, despite his violent allergy to emotional displays, managed a friendly clap on the back. "Take care, okay?" said Not-Sasha. 

"And the same to you," said Jon seriously. "We'll meet again."

After they left, Gerry showed them to the spare room to drop their bags. "We'll head to the Archive tomorrow, yeah? I'll get a token sorted out for Jon." 

Gerry pulled Jon aside late that evening, once Basira, Melanie and Martin were deep enough in conversation that they didn't notice. "I need to ask you some questions."

Jon had a pretty good idea of what Gerry wanted to know, and so he followed him willingly into the kitchen, shutting the door behind them. "What do you want to ask about?"

Gerry sat up on the counter, tapping his fingernails against the slate. "Why doesn't Martin know he has your heart?" 

Jon looked at him, a little frustrated. "And how do you suggest I tell him? Oh, by the way Martin, I'm in love with you, the forever kind of love because stars only love once, and you have my heart in a way that's slightly more literal than you think? Oh Martin, I love you, and that puts you in danger?" 

Gerry nodded slowly. "So what's the plan? Leave him, break both your hearts, and hope you stop loving him before someone murders him?" 

Jon snorted. "Don't be ridiculous, Gerry. Mortals fall in love all the time. Their broken hearts heal, and they can love again afterwards. Martin's beautiful, strong and brave - he could have anyone he wanted."

"That doesn't mean his love is less important than yours, that his heartbreak matters any less!" 

"It's an irrelevant point anyway. He doesn't love me. It's impossible."

Gerry shook his head. "I can't change your mind, but before you go back - if we even find a way - you have to tell him, for his safety if nothing else. If you don't, I will." He dropped an Archive token on the counter, before turning and leaving the kitchen, rejoining the group around the fire. 

Jon stood in the doorway, watching them for a moment. Martin was illuminated by the firelight, practically glowing in its warmth. He turned to see Jon watching and smiled, beckoning him to join them. 

***

The next day, Gerry and Basira showed them to the Archive. A heavy, cloudy fog had rolled in overnight, turning the city into a place of stark, looming shadows and dim gas lamps through mist. Neither of the locals seemed phased by the cloying humidity or the cold, and Martin assumed this must be a fairly regular occurrence. Actually, thinking about it, Stormhold was high enough that these could be clouds. 

The Archive was in another district, Glass Peaks, further up the mountain than Stormhold Castle. True to its name, most of the buildings in the area were built out of the same black volcanic glass as the castle. According to Basira, when Jon asked, it was mined from a nearby dormant volcano, so was a relatively inexpensive and impressive building material.

The Archive was well hidden, tucked away from the main roads through the district, and it just looked like another residential building. Gerry tapped on the door, a pattern of long and short pauses. There was a brief pause, and then the sound of the door unlatching. The woman on the other side nodded as she saw Gerry and Basira, allowing them in without question, although her hand lingered on a sword at her side. As they entered the building, it was mostly empty except for the woman, a single chair with a desk, and a set of stairs, heading downwards. Basira thanked her as they filed down the steps into the Archive itself. 

The actual Archive was massive, even just the first room was a massive hall, and at least ten metres tall and filled floor to ceiling with bookshelves and scroll racks. Basira led them through to a deeper section, this part slightly smaller with a lower ceiling. "This room is dedicated to astronomy and celestial studies. Magical travel and transportation is there-" she indicated another side alcove "- and if you think of anything else, then ask, because I know where everything in here is. Keep your tokens on you if you wander, because you're new and the guards are jumpy after last week's break in."

Jon was looking around at all the books, a little stunned, and he walked straight towards the nearest shelf, scanning through the titles and picking out the most promising books, stacking them onto a nearby table. Basira heads over to the magical transport section she had mentioned, and Gerry starts searching in a different place entirely. Martin walked over to a set of shelves near Basira, but it was slow going. A lot of the technical terms were unfamiliar to him, and a lot more were familiar but the context was different enough that he had trouble parsing the meaning. Eventually he found a few books that looked basic enough to give him an understanding whilst still being detailed enough to be useful, and sat down to leaf through them, skimming for anything that mentioned stars, or flight, or travelling long distances rapidly. 

Most of it was very disappointing. There were sections on sky ships, which were limited by the amount of air, and a brief description of babylon candles, which weren't uncommon, but required that the user have a method of transportation anyway - it just accelerated it. There were several mentions of stars falling, but no real reason why or reference to any star ever returning to the sky. Basira seemed to have come to a similar conclusion, as she asked Jon, "How exactly did you fall from the sky?" 

Jon looked up from the book he was examining - a heavy tome on orbital mechanics and stellar distances. He frowned. "I was knocked down, actually. I think perhaps by Elias, though I didn't exactly get the opportunity to ask." He dug through his pocket, pulling out the dark red pendant on its coppery chain. It seemed to glitter with an inner light. "By this, in fact, or at least I think so." 

"May I see?" asked Basira, leaning closer. Jon handed it over readily and she examined it carefully, turning it over in her hand. She glanced up at Martin again, who was watching with curiosity but little investment, and then back to Jon. "Can I keep hold of this for now, to study it further?" Jon nodded, returning to his book. Basira pocketed the charm and stood, walking to a different set of shelves, and Martin returned to his latest book.

Partway through the afternoon, Gerry asked Jon some question about star transportation, Martin wasn't sure quite what; he only noticed once they'd been whispering for half an hour, books abandoned and heads conspiratorially close. Martin felt a hot flush rise in his chest, and he realised his hands were clenched on the pages of his book. He closed it with a thump, dropping it onto the pile of books that had been finished with and muttering something about going to stretch his legs and get some fresh air. Basira looked up, a little concerned, but Jon and Gerry didn't even seem to notice. 

Martin tried to storm as quietly as he could out of the main library, up the stairs into the streets, hoping the icy, damp fog would help clear his mind. It is none of my business who Jon is flirting with, he thought, a little angrily, because Jon was his own person. Even if Martin was right there, was- Well? he challenged himself. What exactly am I that Gerry isn't? 

He allowed himself to fall back against the wall with a thump. All of this is irrelevant, because Jon is going home. He is going to leave, to go back to where he belonged, and that's good! Jon's going to go home! Jon is going to leave him anyway. He took a slow breath, filling his lungs with cold, humid air. He wanted Jon to be happy. Even if that meant being happy far away from him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! maybe leave a comment? they make my day! no kidding I must have read the comments on this a Hundred Times.  
> say hi at disasterdrow.tumblr.com (if you want)


	7. thou, when thou return'st, wilt tell me

After several days of research, Martin was growing disheartened. Every idea so far had hit a dead end, and they were onto researching vague threads mentioned in obscure diaries and documents. Basira reassured him that research was often painstaking and difficult like this, but he was still frustrated. A lot of the technical research and document translation was beyond him, so more and more often he found himself simply taking notes for Gerry, or making the tea. The only one who was still entirely unbothered was Jon, who seemed strangely upbeat. 

After another frustratingly unproductive day, Jon turned to Martin as they were leaving the archive. "How about you and I go for a walk?" 

Martin was a little taken aback, but Jon pressed on, "I mean, it looks like we're going to be here for a little while, and I'd like to have a wander around, get to know the city a bit."

Basira interjected, "If you're going to do that, then you should be careful. This city isn't a very safe place at night." Martin looked at the darkening sky, the sun already hidden below the mountains, and nodded. 

"We won't be more than a couple of hours," said Martin, already reaching for Jon's hand. 

Gerry smiled at them both. "If you're late, we'll send Melanie after you," he teased as they left. 

They didn't have a particular goal in mind as they meandered, Martin's left hand in Jon's and his other resting on his sword. He traced the burn scars on Jon's right hand absently with his thumb. Jon squeezed back gently. 

They found themselves walking in the general direction of the castle, into the more commercial and market district of the city. Most of the shops and stalls were closed for the evening by that time, but Martin tugged Jon towards an interesting looking second hand shop that was still open despite the hour. 

A small brass bell above the door rang as they entered the cluttered building. It was full of objects, from clothing, tools and furniture to strange looking weaponry on the wall above the counter. There was a young woman perched on the counter, reading a book. She looked up and smiled brightly. "Feel free to browse, and just ask if you need any help!" 

Jon wandered over to a rack of brightly coloured shirts, idly checking the texture of each to see if they appealed. Martin picked up a few staves and quarterstaffs, wondering if he could convince Jon to accept something to lean on if it doubled as a weapon. One cane he picked up, a heavy decorative affair, seemed to have a loose handle. He tugged it and it came loose, sliding out of the handle - and kept sliding. Awed, he pulled a narrow sword out of the cane, slicing it through the air. It was lighter than his own - easier for Jon to handle if he needed to defend himself, he thought. 

He picked it up, taking it over to Jon, who looked up from a ruffled shirt that looked worryingly like something Tim would wear. "What's that?" he asked, and Martin handed it over. Jon slid the sword out of the body of the cane, checking the balance in his hand. He tested the edge and frowned a little. 

"It hasn't been well looked after," he said, carefully sliding it back into its position and examining the catch that held the blade inside the length of the wood. He swung the cane back and forth, testing the weight in his hand. "Yes, I like this." 

Martin took it back from him, walking to the woman sitting on the counter, who put her book down, smiling welcomingly at Martin. He held out the sword-cane. "How much is this?" 

She looked at it, and then back at his face, smiling flirtatiously. "That depends. For you? How about a kiss?" 

Martin nearly dropped the cane, his face bright red. He intended to turn her down politely, but what came out was a panicked "I'm gay!" Luckily she seemed to find it amusing, especially once she saw Jon scowling at her from over Martin's shoulder. Martin paid hurriedly and they left, Jon carrying his new cane. 

“You didn't need to buy that for me," he said to Martin. 

Martin shook his head, taking Jon's hand again. “I know I didn't, but I wanted to. It makes me happy to know you can defend yourself, and I want to give you things. You're my friend." 

Jon smiled, tugging Martin closer and ducking under his arm so it fell across his shoulders as they headed home through the foggy darkness of the evening, gas lamps burning like faint yellowish stars. 

***

Martin struggled to get to sleep that night, mind too caught up in research and the evening walk and Jon. It was usually Jon distracting him, of late - his silver-and-dark hair, his deep eyes and his boundless curiosity. In the end, he decided to get up for a glass of water and to check the bolt on the door. He extricated himself from Jon, who didn't stir, and picked up his sword on the way out the door, closing it behind him. 

The rest of the house was cool and dark, the fire long since burned down to embers. Martin padded into the kitchen and poured himself a mug of water before he remembered that he was going to check the door. He put the drink down, picking the sword back up, and walked to the door. 

The bolt wasn't drawn, and the door wasn't locked at all. In fact, it was slightly ajar. Martin had been the last person through the door, and he distinctly remembered locking it. Jon had cracked a joke about paranoia. Who's paranoid now, Jon, he thought somewhat hysterically. Someone was in the house. He stepped away from the door, scanning the shadows in the main room. They all seemed normal, familiar in the shape of their darkness. 

A floorboard creaked behind him. He whirled around, bringing his sword up. It met another sword with a deafening clang. A shadowed figure, wielding a massive broadsword with both hands. He panicked - the others were asleep. He had to keep them away from the stairs for long enough for help to come. 

They swung at him again; he blocked it before striking back. They dodged with surprising grace. Broadsword, he thought, but couldn't place the wrongness. They stabbed; he sidestepped but misjudged. The tip caught his bicep, scratching and drawing blood, though it didn't impede his movement. He yelped. He could hear footsteps upstairs. Their fight had drawn attention - help was coming. 

Assassins don't carry broadswords, he thought. He retreated two more paces, backing towards the fire, trying to get a good look at his assailants face. She swung at him again, and the force of it jarred his arm, nearly making him drop his own sword, but he didn't attack back, certain something was off. Her face was unfamiliar, contorted with anger - and fear? There were footsteps at the top of the stairs as Jon and Melanie ran out, both carrying their swords, followed closely by Gerry and Basira. The attacker paused, seeing Basira, who vaulted down the stairs, landing lightly beside the two of them. 

"Daisy? We weren't expecting you for another week!" exclaimed Basira. The stranger dropped her broadsword, hugging Basira. 

"What's going on?" asked Jon. He walked across the room to Martin, still holding his sword. "Martin, you're bleeding!" 

Daisy looked over guiltily. "In my defence, there was a stranger with a sword in the house with my sleeping wife!" 

Martin nodded. "I came down to check the locks and thought someone had come for Jon." At that point, his blood started to drip onto the floorboards, and Jon scowled at him, pressing a hand over the cut to stop the bleeding. It was long but shallow, not too serious, and hadn't torn the muscle. 

Daisy looked like she was about to ask why someone would be coming after Jon, but thought better of it. Basira took her hand. "Come to bed, yeah? It's late." Daisy followed her, picking up the sword on the way. 

Gerry walked over with some bandages from somewhere, giving them to Jon. "Get Martin bandaged up, and then I think we should all get some sleep." He turned and walked back up the stairs. 

Melanie walked to the door, redoing the locks and putting the extra bar across. She sat on a chair facing the door, sword unsheathed and across her lap. In response to Martin's quizzical look, she said “I'm going to keep watch for a little while, I think."

Once Jon and Martin were curled up safely in bed again, Jon whispered quietly to Martin, "I was so scared for you. I woke up and you weren't even there, and I could hear the fighting, and I grabbed my sword but before I could get to you I heard you hurt, and-" he broke off. "If you die, Martin-" 

Martin held him closer. "I'm sorry, Jon. I swear I was just getting a drink."

Jon rested his head against Martin's shoulder. "Don't leave me." 

"I won't," he promised. But you're going to leave me, a traitorous voice in his head murmured. He tried to ignore it. 

***

The research continued to be mostly fruitless, and mid afternoon the next day, when another of Gerry's threads didn't pan out, Martin stood up abruptly. "I'm going for a walk," he said. "I'll see you all back home this evening."

Jon looked up in concern. "Want me to come with?" he asked, and when Martin shook his head, he added, "Don't forget your sword." 

Martin walked out of the Archive quickly, slowing down as he stepped out into the cool air. The nights were drawing in, and Glass Peaks was the only district of the city that still had any daylight. Martin headed down the mountain aimlessly, in a different direction than he'd gone on his walk with Jon. The castle loomed, equally threatening and fascinating. He didn't pay much attention to his surroundings, which was why it was a shock when a hand grabbed his arm and pulled him down a narrow side street. 

He drew his sword in a single motion, but the unfamiliar man was already stepping back, hands up. "Why don't you put that away, Martin, before you attract any unwanted attention?" he suggested in a pleasant light tenor. 

Martin lowered the sword, but didn't sheathe it. "How do you know my name, and what exactly do you want?" 

The man smiled. "I've known your name for a long time, Martin. I've been keeping an eye out for you since you entered Faerie, making sure you don't get hurt." 

Martin glared at him. "Then where were you when Jon got kidnapped?" 

"Oh, I didn't consider that any of my business. It's you I'm concerned with, Martin, not your friends." 

"Why?" 

"I want to help you, Martin. I knew your father - you look so much like him, you know - and I thought perhaps we could be useful to each other. I might have a way to send your Jon home, if you would be interested. Now, why don't you put that sword away?" Slowly, his eyes never leaving the man's face, he sheathed the sword. "That's more civilised now, isn't it?" 

"What's your name?" 

The man laughed, but there was no humour in it. "Peter. Peter Lucas." He held out a hand to shake, and Martin reluctantly took it. "It's very nice to finally meet you." He reached into an inside pocket of his coat, and Martin's hand fell reflexively to his sword. He pulled it halfway out of the sheath before Peter finished pulling several sheets of paper out of his pocket. Peter laughed again, this time mockingly. "Twitchy, aren't we?" He offered the notes to Martin, who took them carefully. 

Martin flicked through them, skimming the contents, checking for anything that wasn't paper or looked immediately dangerous. But it all looked like ordinary ink on paper. 

Peter spoke again. "This is freely offered, Martin. I just hope you'll remember me if you need help again. I feel certain we can come to some kind of… arrangement." 

Martin tucked the paper into his own pocket. Against his better judgement, he asked, "How will I find you if I need you again?"

Peter Lucas met his eyes evenly. "Oh, you'll see me around, Martin." Smiling again, he added, "We're going to be friends, I think." 

Martin took two steps back. "Don't follow me." He turned around and walked away quickly, and Peter Lucas stood still and watched him go. 

Unfortunately for Martin, it wasn't Peter Lucas he should have been worried about finding them. At the foot of Stormhold Mountain, the man called Elias stood, looking up at the city for a moment before beginning to climb.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter should be up next week but. I haven't finished it so it might be a little late. comments and kudos feed the beast!


	8. tell me where all past years are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes I added another chapter. hints in the username - I'm a disaster. short chapter this time, sorry. it's still technically Sunday?

Martin hurried back to Gerry's house quickly after his confrontation with Peter Lucas, barely aware of his surroundings enough to make sure he wasn't being followed. Any of his father's associates couldn't possibly be trustworthy. The fog seemed to be clinging to him, the icy dampness seeping into his bones and soaking his clothes, although it wasn't raining. 

When he got inside, bolting the door behind him, Jon, Gerry, and Basira were in the main room, talking quietly. They looked up as he entered and he must have looked worse than he felt. Jon got up to steady him as he stumbled to a chair. He was too tired to be concerned about the wetness of his clothes soaking into the chair. 

"Are you okay?" asked Basira, as Gerry demanded "What happened?" 

"I had a run in with someone who claimed to know my father," said Martin. "It was a bit of a shock, to be honest." He shivered a little. Jon leaned in closer to him, passing him a cup of tea, and he cupped his hands around it. The weight and heat of it steadied him enough to recount the strange encounter with Peter Lucas. 

"I think I want to find out more about my father," he concluded, "but not from him." He gave the notes to Gerry. "I think you'll be able to make use of these better than I could." 

Basira, who had been strangely quiet throughout Martin's story, sighed. "I can tell you most of what you need to know, I think." 

Martin startled, spilling tea onto his hand. "You knew my father? Why didn't you say anything?" 

"By reputation, not personally, but yes. I knew of him. How could I not - your father was the late Lord Blackwood of Stormhold, making you heir to Stormhold Castle. I was a little surprised no one else realised." 

Martin and Gerry gaped at her blankly. Gerry was the first to recover. "There's no way! Blackwood isn't that uncommon a name! That's got to be coincidence, or something." 

"Lord Blackwood disappeared a little over two decades ago, presumably out of Faerie because no one could locate him. Now Martin shows up, half human, spitting image of Blackwood Sr, about the right age. Tell me that's a coincidence." 

Martin stared at the floor as they continued to argue, not feeling anything. His father was - or might have been - a fae lord. It felt almost dreamlike, or perhaps a nightmare. His head buzzed, seeming to fill with static from the base of his skull, and he listened to their debate almost absently, as though it didn't concern him. He noted the spilt tea, cooling on his hands, soaking into his already damp clothes. He was distantly aware of Jon, too, a hand on his shoulder, saying something with eyebrows creased in concern. 

"-tin. Martin! Can you hear me?" 

Martin managed a nod. Basira and Gerry had stopped arguing, and Gerry took the cup of tea from his shaking hands. "Come on, Martin. Let's get you into something dry, yeah? You've had a shock. This can wait, at least until Melanie and Daisy get back." 

***

The conversation for the rest of the evening was kept deliberately light. Martin didn't participate much, lost in thought. Jon curled up against him, a reassuring solidity, and they discussed research in the Archives. Basira and Gerry excused themselves early, leaving Jon and Martin together in the dark, watching the fire flicker in the fireplace. 

"I don't know what to do with this," said Martin, taking himself by surprise. "I mean. My jerk of a father is a fae lord. What do I make of that? I don't know anything about him, about Faerie, and suddenly there's-" he gestured vaguely "-all this?" 

"This doesn't have to change anything you don't want it to," said Jon gently. 

Martin looked at him, startled. "I'm like. Fae nobility or something! That's gotta come with some kind of responsibilities - I don't know what it even involves!" 

Jon shrugged, looking away. "It seems to me like they've managed two decades without a lord in Stormhold. Five more years while you figure out who you are and where you're going aren't going to hurt anything. If you're concerned, you could appoint a regent to keep an eye on things." He made eye contact with Martin, holding it intently, like he was examining Martin's soul. "You're still the same Martin. This doesn't say anything about you except what you want it to." 

***

The next day, in the Archives, Basira pulled Martin aside. "I forgot about this," she said apologetically, pulling something out of her pocket. Martin recognised it as the necklace that had knocked Jon out of the sky. It was heavy looking, a dark red stone the size of a walnut set on a thick, polished copper chain. It seemed to glitter with a dark, bloody light that emanated from within the stone rather than reflecting the light from the room. 

"If I'm right and you're the Lord of Stormhold, then it belongs to your family - and to you." She offered it to him. "Take it." 

Martin reached out gingerly, accepting it from her hands and examining it. The glow intensified for a moment, and the red light bathed Martin's hands in blood. He blinked, and it returned to how it had been before. He looked at Basira for confirmation, and she was smiling smugly. "I was right." 

He offered it back, but she shook her head. "No. It's yours." He thought about debating, but tucked it into a pocket, instead. 

"Thank you," he said. 

"Don't mention it. Seriously, don't mention it. I'll see if I can find you a history book or something, yeah?" 

*** 

The day's research went far faster with the notes from Lucas; even though they didn't trust him, his research could be verified, and it did make an excellent starting point. To Martin's annoyance, he seemed to be for real. Still, Gerry insisted they all leave the archive at a reasonable time. When it looked like Jon was going to argue, Martin interjected. 

"How about you and I go for another walk, Jon?" 

Jon looked startled, then pleased. "Sure! That sounds great, Martin!" He started to gather his notes, but Gerry pushed his hands away playfully. 

"We'll get these - you two go have fun." He looked up, directly at Martin, winked and mouthed 'go get your man.' Martin flushed, but thankfully Jon didn't seem to notice, picking up his cane and smiling at Martin. 

"Shall we?" asked Martin. 

***

The evening was cool and typically foggy, and Martin stuffed his hands deep into his pockets. Jon breathed in deeply, tipping his head back and closing his eyes. Martin noted that he was leaning a little more stiffly on his cane than usual, and decided to insist on more regular breaks from research. 

"Anywhere in particular, or shall we just wander around for a bit?" asked Jon thoughtfully. 

Martin shrugged, tapping the hilt of his sword absently. "I didn't have anywhere in mind. Shall we see where the night takes us?" 

The light was beginning to grow dusky, the lights coming on through the mist. They picked a direction and began to walk, just wandering down the mountain, neither especially inclined to break the peaceful quiet of the evening. The streets were nearly empty, the gathering chill and damp enough to drive most people into their homes. 

Jon and Martin meandered quietly  
through the city. Martin grew tenser and tenser, one hand on his sword hilt and the other in Jon's. He leant in towards Jon, whispering almost inaudibly, "Don't look now, but I'm pretty sure we're being followed." 

"You would be right," said a familiar voice, as a man stepped out in front of them, cutting them off. Jon glanced behind them, but the street was empty. 

"Elias," said Martin calmly, his sword in hand. "I wish I could say it was a pleasure, or ask why you're here, but that would be rather pointless. Leave." 

Elias smiled threateningly, his hands sparking green with unnatural power. "Not without what I came for, I don't think, Mr. Blackwood. Not without Jonathan." 

Jon didn't even bother trying to disguise his hatred. Impulsively, he retorted, "I don't have what you're looking for anymore, Elias." 

Elias' eyes widened in shock, then flashed with green power, scanning the area. His eyes landed on Martin - but a moment too late. Martin took advantage of his momentary distraction to run Elias through the chest with his sword. He stood there for a moment, frozen in shock, green light playing across his skin, before crumpling to the ground. 

Martin withdrew the sword, but there was no blood. Blue flames flickered around the sword for a moment before extinguishing, but burned fiercely on the body, disintegrating it to ash in just a matter of moments. Martin looked at the sword to see a tiny, unfamiliar symbol scratched into the base of the blade glow blue before fading back to metal. 

"What the fuck," said Jon, very calmly, and Martin turned to face him, returning his sword to its place on his hip.

"I'm not sorry. He would have hurt you." 

Jon shook his head and reached up to Martin's face, running a thumb across his cheekbone. "You just killed a man for me." Martin nodded mutely. 

"I'm going to kiss you now," said Jon, and then kissed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hopefully the last chapter will be up next week, assuming it doesn't grow again. thanks for your support! leave a comment?


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